Smilla's sense of camouflage ...

... is quite poorly developed, actually. Unfortunately, she was born with a coat that makes it difficult to blend in—unless she is surrounded by miniature Holstein cows. Yet every night, she wedges herself between the bed pillows and imagines she's invisible. But Madame and Mister, who can effortlessly distinguish between a blue pillowcase and an 11-pound black-and-white cat, attempt to delicately lay their fingers upon her. She immediately evinces her anxiety with a piteous me-eee-eeeeeeeeee that has the timbre of Mary Tyler Moore squealing "Mister Graaaaaaaant!" Without a moment's hesitation, Smilla flees. At which point, I take up my station at M&M's fingertips: Ahhhh, a little farther behind the ears. Now, just under the chin. There, perfect.